


Control the divine

by do_androids_dream



Series: Conquest is over (The smut series) [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Morning Sex, NSFW, Oral Sex, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:08:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26173219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/do_androids_dream/pseuds/do_androids_dream
Summary: Simple, joyful morning sex, the calm before the storm: the greatest wedding Nilfgaard has ever seen.Aka: The little distraction I wrote while I was stuck onHarvest of Sorrow, which may or may not actually be about a wedding.
Relationships: Emhyr var Emreis/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Series: Conquest is over (The smut series) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1900684
Comments: 2
Kudos: 59





	Control the divine

**Author's Note:**

> Just enjoy a small moment of joy before I make my two favorite characters miserable again! The title is, of course, a song by Blind Guardian. Is there a song, you ask - ah, is this a trick question? There is: ["Future days"](https://open.spotify.com/track/22sDLvlzAJzH0BHiMSOfRP?si=asTk2RgNRLmMVm6omvdwBg) by Pearl Jam. Yes, I'm terribly soft today.

"Eight days," a voice whispered in Geralt's ear.  
He didn't bother to open his eyes. The very silence told him that there was still time until sunrise.  
"I know you are awake, wolf," Emhyr murmured.  
Warm breath at his neck, smooth shifting of the body behind him.  
"I am not," he replied, his voice merely a breeze.  
"No?"  
  
His drowsy body betrayed him: the kiss that Emhyr pressed right on this one spot at Geralt's throat pit caused a slight wince.  
"I think so," Emhyr whispered with barely concealed triumph in his voice. "And I intend to remind you every morning from now on how much time you have left."  
"I have eight days left?"  
"Hm," Emhyr hummed, with his mouth on Geralt's shoulder now. "As a free man. In eight days' time, Nilfgaard will have the largest wedding, that..."  
"The silliest wedding," Geralt grumbled in between. "Too big, too pompous, and way too many idiots present."  
"Especially one, yes," Emhyr returned. His arms that had been wrapped around Geralt all night long tightened their grip for a moment. And Geralt, who hadn't let go of those arms in his sleep, returned the pressure. It was a mutual confession: On one side a "yes, I'm an idiot, but at least yours", on the other a "I know that, and I want you anyway."  
  
"Eight days, hm," Geralt finally murmured, as if he didn't know for sure.  
"Eight days," Emhyr repeated, while his mouth brushed Geralt's cheek.  
"And you woke me up to tell me that? The sun has not yet risen."  
"No, not because of that."  
Had it needed any more proof, it would have been found in Emhyr's voice now; the arousal in it was apparent. And that was not all: his hardness pressed noticeably against Geralt's back. It was still dark in the room, but the slowly approaching twilight, slightly visible far away on the horizon behind the window, was enough. There seemed to be a grin on Geralt's face, noticeable even through the unruly strands of white hair.  
"Ah, you may find this funny, but after all, I woke up like this, right next to my future husband..."  
"Mmm, say that again," Geralt demanded.  
"Oh, so that turns you on? Turn around, _future husband_ ," said Emhyr.  
He loosened his grip, and Geralt turned around to him. His eyes opened to another pair, not only dark because of the twilight but also because of desire.  
"I could get used to this, you know," he said softly.  
"I hope so," Emhyr countered. "I intend to do that very, very often."  
"I don't mean..."  
The faint protest was stifled in a kiss that didn't even pretend to be gentle. A hand went down Geralt's back, reached his bottom, squeezing it tightly, his body pressing against him. Geralt had closed his eyes again, he gave himself entirely into the kiss, the tongue that met his, giving him a tiny taste of what was to come.  
  
His hand gently stroked Emhyr's cheek until it reached his hair; the impatient little curls that would soon be gone. Regretfully, he parted his lips from Emhyr's and, opening his eyes again, murmured, "We have little time, we'll ride early."  
The journey to the capital would take a couple of days, even if they left very early; a huge effort with an opulent entourage, overflowing luggage and too much fuss, performed under extreme security measures.  
  
"If I have to, I can hurry," Emhyr whispered, and his mouth went back to Geralt's throat. A tiny noise showed him that he had hit the right spot.  
"I don't want you to," was the answer in a rough voice.  
Emhyr let out one of his rare, terse laughter.  
"You'll have to make up your mind. Quick, slow... any of that, please, before I burst."  
  
He was really, really very aroused - not only his voice or his words showed this, but also his smell, which Geralt picked up unusually strongly at this early hour. He lifted the blanket that covered them both, released his gaze from Emhyr's eyes, and let it wander deeper, only to suddenly raise his brows.  
"That looks almost painful," he muttered.  
"Almost," Emhyr returned.  
His member was very hard, the tip shining.  
"One should do something about it. "  
"One should," Emhyr replied with that certain sparkle in his eyes, which found its counterpart in Geralt's cat-like eyes, glossy now.  
  
Geralt sweepingly tugged at the blanket, exposing both their naked bodies to the twilight. Then he slid deeper, pressing Emhyr resolutely on his back. In the blink of an eye, his hot breath was on Emhyr's stomach, and he could already feel him tense with expectation. His mouth went down deeper, his tongue leaving a wet trace on the skin. He slid down further, deliberately sparing the shaft of the expectantly erect hard-on. Instead, he began licking Emhyr's balls provocatively slowly, while moving his legs slightly apart with one hand and stroking the inside of one thigh with the other.  
  
Emhyr inhaled sharply. "Beloved husband," he puffed, and Geralt interrupted him: "Future husband," while he stroked endlessly slowly along Emhyr's cock with only one finger.  
"Wannabe husband," Emhyr moaned stubbornly. "Because I swear to you, if you don't get to the point soon, I can't guarantee anything."  
"Oh, now we're in a hurry, huh?"  
But Geralt was willing to let redemption follow. Slowly, his mouth went down on Emhyr's erection. Emhyr's right hand clawed into Geralt's hair almost simultaneously. This hair, it was still messy from sleep, and far too long for his taste and for a wedding. Later, Geralt would complain that he had gripped so tightly into his hair that he now had a lot of knots, and Emhyr would counter he should try a comb for once; and they would smile and exchange a short, loving kiss, just as if this wedding was just a formality. But now, right now, there was no room for these thoughts. In fact, there were hardly any thoughts, only hot breath, and a skillful tongue.  
  
But the things this tongue did - oh, the ups and downs, it promised no release, it did not loosen the tension. In fact, it built up only more. Geralt felt it under his hands that held Emhyr's thighs tightly, the stiffening of muscles, almost as if he tried to escape the pressure. There was no escape from his mouth that could provoke pleasure or pain just by stroking his tongue slowly or fast, just as he pleased. The tension told him a lot, but there was much more: the soft sounds, proof of consent in a shallow voice. The rising heartbeat that had suddenly turned into a fast hammering. This was the moment he stopped, he withdrew, leaving a trace of saliva over Emyhr's cock. He rose with a swift movement, covering Emhyr's body with his own, smiling into that face under his, only to conquer his mouth with a fierce kiss. He reached out with one hand, briefly stroking Emhyr's cheek - an unexpected gesture, met by a rare, but genuine smile. Emhyr's hands went up, embracing his body, pulling him closer for another kiss.  
  
The hands moved to Geralt's bottom, a firm grip, a gesture as clear as attempting to dominate the kiss. Usually, this was the moment when Geralt gave in, and with pleasure: the relief of not having to be strong, letting go to somebody who was used to being superior in a totally different way than he was. But not now, not today. A quick movement backward, and he grabbed the hands holding him, pressed them back onto the sheets, and held them there.  
"No, no, no," he softly scolded. "You're not having your way for waking me up in the middle of the night..."  
"It's dawning," Emhyr muttered under his breath.  
"The middle of the night," Geralt continued unmoved.  
He briefly let go of one arm, reaching for the small table near the bed, but Emhyr got cheeky and tried to topple him over. Geralt missed the table, grasping into the void for a second, and actually almost lost his grip. Emhyr already had his knee between his legs, he nearly made it. But Geralt could only laugh about this petty attempt to start a fight with him - a small, hearty laugh that was not often heard. For this alone, Emhyr gave up his resistance, and he looked up into shiny, golden eyes.  
  
"You're only causing delays," muttered Geralt. "Nobody can want that," Emhyr replied in a rough voice, and from there on, he lay still, a tiny smile on his mouth. Geralt made another attempt to grab for the little drawer's content, succeeding this time. His movements were precise and fast, and before Emhyr knew what was happening to him, Geralt had both hands on his cock. His hands, lubricated with oil, went up and down, smooth and soft. He caressed him with both expertise and the care of something he loved to do, and all of it brought Emhyr already very close to the edge. And Geralt, of course, sensed this, maybe long before he himself knew. Just before the body beneath him told him that it became unbearable, that he sought redemption; only then Geralt stopped, and Emhyr heard himself exhaling sharply, not knowing that he had even held his breath.  
  
Another swift motion, and suddenly Geralt was back on top of him. He lay upon him, covering him in kisses once more, and at the same time, he reached behind, and he took him and positioned him exactly where he wanted him. "Geralt, that is not enough, "Emhyr started, a little out of breath, but Geralt just shook his head, and with a focused glance into nowhere, he pushed. He supported Emhyr with his hand while he slowly settled upon his member, and it sufficed. He shifted, raising his upper body a little, his knees resting next to Emhyr, and soon he was filled completely. Both of them gasped almost simultaneously. The atmosphere changed. This was not playful anymore, their bodies slowly heating up, looking for another kind of fulfillment. Geralt began to move slowly, too slowly for Emhyr, who put his hands on his hips, not just to support him. Geralt wouldn't let him. A nearly vicious smile on his face, he pushed those hands away again, bent forward, held them tight, and stole another kiss. It was met almost breathlessly when only now he started to move faster. Tightening his muscles around Emhyr had a noticeable effect: Emhyr's eyes widened. He felt his arms tensing in another effort to free himself. But Geralt held him, just an inch close to painful, and closed his mouth again with his lips when he started to elicit a husky moan. Emhyr tried to move his hips, trying to counteract the friction.  
  
"Not your turn," Geralt gasped out, intensely aroused by the feeling, the act itself, also by the awareness of controlling this. He was fully aware of the things his body did and how they worked on Emhyr. Conscious of being responsible for that single drop of sweat running down his brow, wrinkled in the concentration of enjoying the feeling. Aware of making that body under him tense up, the mouth trying to catch his. But this time, he didn't give it to him that easily. This time he determined when it was time for another kiss, and he played with him: nibbled on Emhyr's lower lip, touching his mouth very delicately, almost just a breath, only to suddenly, abruptly force his tongue through his lips. All of this, while he was still moving on him, up and down, a devil's ride - not cruel in his intention, but also not willing to bring relief too soon.  
  
This game went on and on, until their breaths were moans, and they were both very close. Just now, Geralt stopped, sensing to enter dangerous grounds - he did not want this to end right now, did not want to hurry, came dawn or not. He stopped, in need to catch his breath, and finally released Emhyr's hands, leaning over him, resting his cheek on Emhyr's neck. Free at last, Emhyr took his chance. Putting his hands on Geralt's butt, he held him there, pinned him on his cock, and now he started thrusting. Geralt's mouth was very near to his ear when he let out a whimper from his throat's depth. He pushed hard and fast, reaching his most sensitive spot, nearly throwing him over the edge. But now, finally, back in control, Emhyr was not finished with him. Now he toppled him over, causing Geralt to fall on his back, but he did not lose contact - he was still inside of him, never stopping to push himself deep into his ass. But he only did so for a moment, just to build up even more pressure; until he wordlessly withdrew completely, causing a most pleasant little sound from Geralt's throat, despair and arousal united in one single tone. But Geralt knew what would come. It took only a fleeting hand movement from Emhyr. He turned around, his bottom raised up expectantly. Emhyr made an approving little sound, almost amused by his eagerness. Suddenly, he pushed him down onto the mattress, pinning him with one hand on his neck, holding his ass firmly with the other, and in a swift, single movement, he pushed back in. Inbetween pleasure and pain, Geralt gasped, tensing up; it only earned him a slap on his ass. Emhyr laid his full weight upon him and whispered in his ear, "Don't defy me." It was an order, he would not move until Geralt would entirely give in. With utmost strength, he breathed, relaxing; and the reward was another kiss on the sensitive spot on his neck, followed by a fierce grip on his ass to keep him from tightening up again.  
  
Only then, Emhyr started to thrust again, still lying upon him, pinning him down, holding him under his control, pushing hard and fast. All Geralt could do was hold on to the sheets, sweaty hands clawing into them. His own hardness was rubbing against the mattress with every push, and every push seemed more demanding than before. Above him, near to his ear, were sounds that would have almost roared in his head, if his own heartbeat wouldn't have been so loud that it nearly deafened anything else. He came without even touching himself, with a hoarse scream into the sheets. And Emhyr stopped, held his shivering body, enjoying what he had caused with a rare little laughter into Geralt's ear. But then, as if it was nothing, he repeated his thrusts at the same pace as before, causing the sensitive, almost sore body beneath him to shiver once more. This time, he pushed through it, and he made no sound when he found his own release. He just breathed, a little shaky perhaps, onto Geralt's neck, a long exhale. He even moved further through his own orgasm, feebly and uncontrolled, until his legs almost gave way. Then, he rolled from him, lay beside Geralt. Only his sweaty forehead and the fast movement of his chest betrayed him - for his face was as calm as always. As if he had not done anything. It was a different calmness, though - total relaxation, absolute fulfillment.

  


"Seven days," Geralt finally said.  
"Still eight," Emhyr objected.  
"No, seven more to do this."  
"I intend to do this every day, even after the wedding. And the day is not over yet."  
Geralt smiled, a broad, authentic smile, filled with feeling.  
"We're riding in a couple of hours."  
"So? We're sleeping in a tent tonight, which means you'd have to be quiet, but I guess I know some ways to keep your mouth shut."  
"Filthy."  
Emhyr shrugged.  
"Maybe you're just getting old. I've heard things about witcher's stamina ... well, maybe that was all an exaggeration."  
Geralt poked him into his side in feigned indignation.  
"You're impossible. Is this a decent behavior for an Emperor?"  
The sparkle in Emhyr's eyes returned.  
"And you're an idiot, but did I ever question your behavior?"  
"No. You expect me to have none."  
"Touché."  
Now they both smiled, sharing a knowing look. A deep understanding that needed no words.  
  
From far away, deep from the city below them, a ringing of bells could be heard. It was time to start the day; the sun had risen, and the city and the palace came to life. There was still time for a last, tender kiss.  
Eight days until the wedding.


End file.
